Formative Years
by softambientpulse
Summary: Sam and Dean spend a summer in New Mexico while John is away on a hunt, learning what their relationship really means and what their boundaries are. (consensual underage sex, occasional self harm, some drug and alcohol use)
1. Chapter 1

**Sunday, 22 April**

John decided they were staying in New Mexico that spring. He wanted to help some old friends who lived near Albuquerque. They were researching a string of bizarre deaths that seemed like they must be supernatural, but the methods and patterns didn't match those of any creature hunters knew of.

It was the end of April. The boys sat quietly in the back seat; there was only another half hour or so of driving before they would reach their motel. They had driven almost non stop from their last motel in Michigan, where Dean and John had just finished off a nest of vampires. John insisted on making good time to New Mexico. They were all really ready to finally shower and lay down.

Dean looked over at his brother. It was evening, and warm light was coming in through Sam's open window. It landed softly on his skin and bounced excitedly off his long hair; he insisted on growing it out, a decision John was not incredibly fond of. Dean had watched Sam scribble away in a small, leather bound notebook for a little over an hour.

"What are you writing about over there?" Dean asked. His voice cracked a little; he hadn't spoken in a few hours. Sam adjusted so that the contents of the notebook were even more hidden from Dean's view, not that Dean had been able to see anything before.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Just some stuff." Dean was unsatisfied with this answer but didn't see the point of pressing the matter; when Sam didn't want to share something, it was pretty difficult to get it out of him. Dean figured he would have to rip the notebook out of Sam's hands to find out what was inside.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

John finally pulled off the highway. He took a minute to consult the back of a crumpled receipt, on which he had scribbled directions to a motel just outside of town. The friends he was visiting actually owned it, and offered to let them stay there for free. It took about ten minutes to find the place. It wasn't the fanciest of motels, but it looked structurally sound, and upon inspection of the inside of the room, it was clean. And those things alone put it a step above several other places they had stayed.

The room was pleasantly large. The door opened to a small kitchen on the left with a stove, fridge, and cabinets, and a living area on the right with a sofa, recliner, coffee table, and television. Through the living room, there was an actual bedroom with a door (a rare sight for the boys) and through the bedroom was the bathroom. There were two beds in the bedroom, so it was decided that Dean and Sam would sleep there and John would take the couch (which folded out into a bed), since he was likely to have a lot of late nights and didn't want to keep them up.

The two brothers inspected the bedroom. The first thing they noticed was a large dresser. The back of the dresser leaned against the wall between the bedroom and the living room, on the left side of the door, next to the bathroom. The beds were parallel to the bathroom, with the headboards touching an outside wall. There was a window between them covered in pale blue curtains. Each bed had a small table with a drawer next to it on the inside, and about a foot of floor space on the outside before the wall. Sam grinned and quickly claimed the bed farther from the bathroom, because it was on the side of the door without the dresser so he had more room. Dean set his stuff down at the foot of the other bed, and then they both hustled back to the living room upon hearing John call them.

"Well, we have a few things to talk about, but it can wait til tomorrow. Let's just get settled in and get some rest," sighed John, looking and sounding rather ragged. There was no protest from Dean and Sam. They went about unpacking the car and figuring out semi permanent places for things; they were going to be here several months at least, so there was no point in living out of their bags the whole time. Once everything was inside, John said, "Why don't you boys take a quick shower? I'm gonna go pick up some food, and then I want in that bathroom as soon as I get back."

"Yessir," Dean replied with a nod. Then he turned to Sam, "I'm first, squirt." Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention to putting their clothes away in the dresser.

When Dean came out of the shower, Sam was sitting in his bed, hunched over the same notebook, but this time he was reading instead of writing.

"You reading your own work over there, Shakespeare?" Dean teased.

"I'm just, uh… proofreading," said Sam, without raising his head.

"Oh, so you're writing a story?" Dean asked. "What's it about?" He sat down on his own bed, facing Sam, and began drying his hair. Sam shrugged.

"Uh… yeah, I guess it's a story. But it's personal," he said, sounding like he was really struggling to find the right words. Dean squinted and tried to see Sam's face, get a grip on anything his expression was saying that his words were leaving out. He couldn't see through the curtain of hair, and had a feeling Sam was aware of this.

"What do you mean it's personal? You writing your autobiography or something?" Dean pressed. Sam made an irritated sound and closed the book as he sat up straight, still not looking at Dean.

"No, it's not my autobiography, asswipe. It's just personal, and I don't wanna show you. I'm just using it to… express myself, I guess. Write down things I want to get out of my head," Sam explained. Dean thought about this for a minute.

"So… a diary?"

Sam stood up in a huff and said curtly, "No. Just leave it." Sam walked to the dresser to collect a set of clean clothes.

"Oh, don't bother, Sammy," Dean said, "it gets way to steamy in there to get your clothes on without them sticking. No ventilation or whatever, you can't get dry. You'll be better off just coming out in a towel and drying out here." Dean was still in a towel himself. He was debating whether he should get dressed at all or just sleep naked; the room was kind of hot, after all. Sam shook his head.

"I'll manage," he muttered, before carrying his clothes and his book into the bathroom. Dean heard the lock click.

Sam had been a little strange the past few months. Back in October, he started wearing flannels pretty much non stop. Sam had always been one to strip down to his underwear to sleep, but he had been sleeping in the shirts too. He had also become hesitant about physical contact and didn't want to change in front of anyone; he would opt not to wash when he was unable to do so in private. Dean figured he was probably just feeling weird because he was hitting puberty, and his body was changing or whatever. But he felt a little hurt. It seemed that they were not as close as they used to be. Sam was quieter, moodier, and not very expressive or affectionate. Again, all things that could be passed off as typical teenage behavior. Dean was still having a hard time brushing it off. He missed his brother.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Monday, 23 April**

The next morning, John explained that he wanted Sam enrolled in the local high school. There was only about a month left, but there was a good chance they would still be in town when the new school year started, so John wanted to just get it over with. Dean should have been a senior that year, but between the frequent moves and a good amount of delinquent behavior, they realized last year that he was not at all on track to graduate. Dean didn't intend to go to college, so after a good amount of loud discussion, John surrendered and let him drop out.

John gave Dean the keys to the Impala and instructed him to take Sam to the school to enroll. Sam climbed in the car and sat silently, clutching his notebook.

"What are you bringing that for?" Dean asked. "I don't think you need any school supplies just to enroll." His lame attempt at a joke; nothing got through to Sam recently.

"I just don't want to leave it in the room," Sam replied.

"Why not? You know housekeeping won't go in there. Not that they'd want your diary or whatever anyway."

Sam scoffed. "It's not a diary. And I just don't want anyone looking at it. I'd rather just keep it with me."

"You mean you don't want _dad_ looking at it?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "What's in there that would get you in trouble with dad?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam muttered. He looked down and started fidgeting with the cover of the book.

"Sammy, if something is going on, you can tell me," Dean said quietly after a few minutes of silence. He could feel Sam looking at him but didn't dare look back out of fear that if Sam was about to share something, he would change his mind if they made eye contact.

"Nothing is going on!" Sam whined. No such luck.

Another few minutes of silence passed before Dean spoke: "So, what's with this fashion statement? It's getting a little warm to be a lumberjack." Sam squirmed and hugged his arms tight to his chest.

"Will you stop picking on me?!" he exclaimed. Dean sighed.

"I'm not picking on you, Sammy Sam. You never talk to me so I don't know what you wanna talk about, and I'm kinda running out of things to say." Dean waited for Sam to say something back, to explain why he's been so distant, to react in any way. He didn't.

Dean turned his eyes back to the road, and after a few more minutes, pulled the car into the parking lot of the school. "Okay, we're here," he announced. Sam didn't move. Dean looked over and he was sitting with his elbow propped up on the window sill and was holding his head in his hand, facing away from Dean. "Sam?" Dean noticed Sam's shoulders shaking ever so slightly. A question mark appeared on his face. Was Sam… crying? He hadn't seen his brother cry in at least four years. Dean reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair out of Sam's face, tucking it behind his ear and wiping away tears with his thumb. Sam turned his face farther in the other direction and remained silent. Dean let out yet another sigh. He reached for Sam's hand instead, which Sam accepted. Fifteen minutes ticked by as they sat there in silence, their hands resting on the edge of Sam's seat.

"Okay, let's get this over with," Sam said abruptly. He jumped out of the car and slammed the door behind him. Dean shook his head lightly before hauling himself out of the car. Sam was leaning against the side of the hood and giving Dean a look he wasn't familiar with. He stared back at Sam, feeling the sun against his back, trying to read his brother's face and having as much luck as he would trying to read hieroglyphics. The way the light was hitting him, Sam looked ethereal. The quiet breeze tugged at the ends of Sam's hair, moving them slowly back and forth, wrapping them around Sam's face. Sam's gaze burned holes in Dean's eyes before wandering down the rest of his face, and then down the arm of Dean's leather jacket. Suddenly, Sam was hugging him, his arms slipped inside the coat. Dean was startled; Sam had refused this level of physical contact for a few months. He barely managed to hug his brother back before Sam wriggled away and marched into the school without a single word.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .


	3. Chapter 3

**Saturday, 12 May**

The weekend after Sam's first week of school, John announced that he would be spending a few days away and would be back on Friday. Sam sat on the couch and purused his notebook while he half listened to his dad rattling off the usual precautions; lock the door, lock the windows, stay together, don't answer the door unless you know who it is. They all knew the routine up and down and sideways, but that didn't stop John from repeating himself every time anyway.

Dean waited until he heard the Impala rumble away before walking to the fridge and retrieving a beer. It wasn't that John didn't know Dean drank, but it was something neither of them really wanted to have a direct conversation about, so Dean tried not to give John a reason to bring it up. He returned to the living room and sat down next to Sam, who scooted away to sit with his back against the arm of the couch.

" _What,_ Sam, do I have the goddamn plague or something?" Dean snapped. Sam immediately looked hurt, which immediately made Dean feel bad. Sam held up his book and pen and gave Dean a bewildered look. Dean shook his head and waved a hand at Sam. "I know, I know, I'm sorry I snapped. That's fine, I'll respect your privacy." He patted Sam on the knee and before he could move his hand away, Sam grabbed ahold and interlaced their fingers, letting their hands sit atop his bent knee. Dean looked over but Sam was already busy scribbling away, his lips pressed into a thin line, indicating he was not going to talk about what he had just done. Dean left it at that and turned his attention to the TV.

They sat in silence for half an hour or so. Sam kept pulling his hand away every few minutes to scratch at the same place on his arm. Dean was curious about this, but he kept quiet. He had finished his beer and was waiting for Sam to take another itch break to get up for another one, not wanting to be the one to break away. It was a rare occurrence lately for Sam not to flinch when touched. The second he felt Sam pull away again, Dean stood and walked to the fridge. On his way back, he noticed a spot on Sam's sleeve. He was about to inform his brother that his precious flannel shirt had acquired a stain, when he noticed the spot looked wet. It looked like… blood.

"Hey, Sam, I think you're bleeding," he said, pointing. Sam jumped, sending his book and pen flying, and clapped a hand over it.

"I must have just scratched myself too hard," he said quickly, starting to get up. Dean stepped closer and blocked his path.

"Well, what's itching you so much you scratched a hole in your arm?" he asked, reaching for Sam's arm. "Here, let me see." Sam dodged him and ducked under Dean's arm, quickly making his way towards the bedroom. "Sam, what the fuck?" Dean called after him. He set his beer down and followed, wondering why the hell Sam was acting so strange. He saw that Sam was headed for the bathroom and took a few jogging steps, squeezing in front of Sam and planting himself in front of the door. " _What,_ Sam? Would you just let me see?"

Sam shook his head violently and took a step back, his hand still clamped over the bloody spot on his sleeve. Dean went after him and managed to grab his brother's wrist. Sam struggled as hard as he could, twisting himself about in an effort to get away. Dean backed Sam into the side of his bed, attempting to push him down onto it. Sam's sleeve rode up as they struggled, exposing a few inches of his arm. He made a reluctant noise and relaxed his muscles, allowing himself to plop down on the mattress. Dean gave him a puzzled look, panting slightly. Sam felt his gaze slowly shift to his exposed skin. Dean loosed his grip and used his other hand to unbutton Sam's sleeve and gently push it up.

Sam stared at his lap and waited for Dean to say something. Dean stared at his brother's arm and waited for Sam to say something. There was a row of uniform cuts up Sam's arm, and they were clearly not accidental. The blood was coming from a particularly large and deep looking one with a thick scab over it; it seemed that Sam had picked part of it off when he scratched himself.

"What is this, Sam?" Dean asked quietly. Sam pulled his arm away and returned his sleeve to its normal position. Dean let go easily and sat down next to his brother. He cautiously rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, and when Sam didn't run for the hills, began rubbing his back gently, waiting for an explanation.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam said after several minutes.

Dean sighed. "Why would you want to hurt yourself?

"I… I guess distracts me from feeling bad."

"Well… what do you feel so bad about?"

Sam just shook his head.

"Have you done something wrong?"

"Not exactly… I mean, not really… I don't know. I guess… sometimes, I want to do things that I know are wrong."

"I'm not sure I understand."

Sam rested his face in his hands. Dean waited for a minute or so, in case Sam was going to respond, before speaking again. "How long has this been going on?"

"Uh… two years or so, I think."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know how."

"You can tell me anything, Sammy Sam. I would have helped you."

Sam let out a long sigh and raised his head, staring at the wall. "I don't think you can."

Dean moved his hand from Sam's back and carefully took his hand instead. He furrowed his brow and observed thier hands resting on the bed, wondering what he should say, or if he should say anything at all. He didn't expect to get much out of Sam if he pushed him. It was usually better to allow Sam to open up on his own.

"Hey, why don't we get out of here for a while?" he finally said. He stood up and tried to pull Sam off the bed. "C'mon, get a clean shirt and let's go. I found a spot the other day that I think you'll appreciate." Sam reluctantly stood and headed to the dresser for another shirt, rolling up the sleeve to make sure he wouldn't bleed on this one as well. Dean went into the living room to put on his boots. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed a plastic bag and threw four beers into it.

Dean checked and double checked the locks before they headed out. It was warm out, about 80 degrees. A gentle breeze surrounded them under a cloudless sky. Dean scrunched his eyebrows up as he looked at Sam's shirt, wondering what their dad would think when he returned. Today was the first day it had been this hot, the previous weeks being in the 60s and low 70s. Sam was definitely not dressed for the weather, and John would start to notice soon. Dean shook his head and tried to put it out of his mind. For now, he just wanted to enjoy himself.

They headed towards the mountains behind the motel. Sam silently hoped that they weren't about to go hiking up to the top; he was already sweating. Thankfully, Dean led them around the side of the mountain instead. They climbed down a short hill that opened up to a grassy area and a small body of water. Dean looked at Sam and smiled when he saw his brother smiling.

"Do you like it?" he asked. Sam nodded and started looking for the perfect place to sit. They sat near the edge of the water and dipped their feet in. Dean leaned on his arms and tilted his head back, closing his eyes against the sun. He felt Sam's hand slide over his.

"Hey," Dean said suddenly, "you wanna go swimming? The water's not too deep but you can get in up to your waist or so." Sam shook his head, pulling his hand away and drawing his arms around his chest. "No one will see, Sam," Dean said quietly. "Trust me, no one comes down here. Even if they did, you'll be in the water. No one will see." Sam considered this for a few moments before responding.

"Okay, I guess if I _have_ to," he said as he stood up, but Dean saw a hint of a smile. "Just...turn around until I'm in." Dean nodded and turned away from the water, peeling off his own clothes. His jeans dragged against his sweaty skin as he yanked them off. He dropped them in the grass near the bag of beers. "Alright, I'm in," Sam said behind him.

Dean turned around and walked into the water. Sam was bobbing around, squatting so that the water came up to his ears. The water was pleasantly warm from the sun since it was so shallow, but still cool enough to be refreshing. Dean waded over to Sam and kneeled in the sandy dirt beneath the water. It was bright and clear in the sun, and Dean could see an alarming collection of red lines on Sam's skin. They covered both arms, although the left arm was significantly worse. They continued down his upper thighs, only a few visible where the water had lifted the hems of Sam's boxers. There were even a few on his stomach. Dean felt a wave of guilt wash over him, wondering how he had been ignorant of this for two whole years. _Why didn't I notice? I should have been paying more attention._ He pulled his eyes away and tipped himself onto his back, floating on the surface of the water. He knew Sam wasn't going to talk so there was no use in dwelling on it right now. He wanted the two of them to enjoy the weather and the water without the burden of difficult conversation.

They stayed in for probably three hours. As the sun started to go down, the water and air temperature began to drop, and Dean suggested they get out before it got too cold. They shook themselves dry as best they could and pulled their clothes back on before sitting in the grass again. Dean retrieved the plastic bag and cracked open a beer for each of them.

"Too bad we don't have a camera," Sam said, nodding towards the sunset. The sky was a brilliant red with swirls of milky pink and stripes of orange. The light oozed over the red mountains and made them look like they were on fire.

Dean shrugged. "This sort of thing doesn't really look right when you take a picture," he said. Sam nodded silently. They continued watching until the sun disappeared under the horizon. Dusk settled hazily over the water, the sounds of the night buzzed around them. Dean savored this, a rare moment of peace shared between them, free from tension. At least right then, nothing was going wrong. Sam looked at him, and Dean seemed to be a thousand miles away.

"So… Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you gonna tell Dad?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I don't think we should. I… don't know how he'll react." He paused for a moment and readjusted himself so he was facing Sam, their legs parallel and their faces about two feet apart. Dean noticed that Sam had never buttoned his shirt after putting it back on. He found himself examining the exposed skin for a minute before shaking himself back to reality and continuing: "I'm not really sure how you're going to hide it either. And I'm worried that he's gonna start feeling weird about your flannel situation pretty quick. It's getting hot, Sam, and we're in the desert. It's only gonna get hotter." Sam looked down and started picking bits of grass out of the ground. He didn't say anything. "We don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to," Dean added. Sam nodded.

They chatted idly for almost an hour; it was pretty much dark now, except for the moonlight. The moon was about half full. They were both about halfway through their second beers when Dean pulled a quarter out of his pocket and flipped it, Sam calling heads as it swirled through the air. Then Dean passed it to Sam and Sam flipped it while Dean called. The unspoken rule whenever they did this was that the person who had racked up the most wins by the end was exempt from dishes and trash duty for a week. Dean suddenly noticed that Sam's torso seemed to be much closer to his than it was an hour ago. He hadn't noticed Sam moving forward though. He was a little puzzled by Sam's sudden desire for physical closeness after shunning Dean for months. Dean wondered if the reason Sam had been distant was because he was worried Dean would discover the cuts if he touched him. However, that had only started less than a year ago, and Sam had said the cutting began at least two years ago. He figured that meant it had recently gotten worse, or more widespread. The thought sat heavily in his stomach.

"Helloooooo?" Sam called. Dean had zoned out, lost in his thoughts, and forgotten to catch the quarter after he flipped it. Sam waved a hand in front of his face, then laughed and leaned over Dean's legs to feel around in the grass for the coin. "Found it," he said, and started to push himself back up. But then he paused, hovering in front of Dean, their faces only inches apart. Dean blinked. He scanned Sam's face in the dim moonlight, and he was wearing that same unfamiliar expression from the other day, when he was looking at Dean outside the high school. Sam's gaze slowly moved from Dean's eyes, to his lips, then back to his eyes. Dean blinked again, harder, as if he was suddenly going to open his eyes and be able to understand what was going on. Sam showed no sign of moving. If Dean didn't know any better, he would think Sam wanted to kiss him. But that wasn't possible.

The breeze blew a lock of hair in front of Sam's eyes; without thinking about it, Dean reached up to push it back behind Sam's ear. He let his hand linger there, his fingertips just barely brushing against the skin. He felt his heart start to pound in his chest as he moved his hand to cup Sam's face, brushing his thumb back and forth over his brother's cheek bone. _What are you doing?_ he asked himself. Sam's gaze hadn't wavered. And he hadn't moved. _Sam doesn't want to kiss me, he's just being weird,_ Dean insisted. His heart felt like it would break right through his ribs. _Then why do I want to kiss him?_ He felt himself leaning in. _What are you doing?_ he asked himself again. _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!_ But it was already too late. Their lips met, and Dean knew he should pull back, get up and walk away before this went any further. But he couldn't. He slid a hand into Sam's shirt, up his back, and pulled him closer. Dean tried to snap himself back to reality, get his brain to direct his body to get up and get out, but all he could think about was how soft Sam's skin was. How delicate but confident his lips were.

Dean pulled Sam's shirt off in one swift movement, moving even closer so they were pressed against each other. He ran his hand up the outside of Sam's leg. Sam grabbed Dean's hand and started redirecting him towards his crotch. Dean was too out of it to realize until he felt his brother's erection through his jeans. And finally, a sliver of rational thought fought its way through the fog of lust clouding his brain. He jerked his hand away and broke the kiss, scrambling backwards in the grass. They stared at each other, bothing panting a little bit. Then Dean turned and started putting his boots back on.

"Dean?"

"I - I'm sorry, Sam, I shouldn't have done that."

"I wanted you to."

" _No,_ Sam, you didn't," Dean said sharply, standing up and looking down at Sam. "You didn't _want_ that, okay. You're just…" Dean trailed off and rubbed at his face vigorously. "Look, I know that our… lifestyle, hasn't always been easy for you. I was always better at the picking up and moving out than you were, it didn't bug me as much. And I know you've had a hard time making friends cause you're shy and we're never in one place too long. So I understand why you're… more attached than maybe you should be to your brother. I'm the only constant in your life. And now that you're… older, it's normal to have… urges," he paused again and kind of spun in place for a moment, horrified at the whole situation and not really sure what he wanted to say. "You just… you can't act on them with me. I'm sorry I didn't pay more attention, I shouldn't have let us be so physical. It's just how we grew up I guess… It's hard to know what's normal between siblings when you have nothing to base it off of… and that goes for both of us," Dean sat back down and rested his head in his hands, staring at the ground. He took another minute to gather his thoughts. "Dad didn't exactly help… you know I love him but the man hasn't been the most attentive father… Christ, Sam, you were mutilating yourself and he didn't notice! _I_ didn't notice!" Dean's voice cracked and he launched himself to his feet again. He began pacing back and forth in the grass behind Sam. "You just… you're just confused. We've both had a rough day, and we're -" he gestured at the empty beer bottles - "we're not thinking straight," he said, knowing full well that he wasn't drunk and neither was Sam. "Let's just go home."

Dean marched towards the motel without waiting for Sam, blinking back tears and adjusting his dick, which seemed to be misbehaving just to spite him. Sam followed soon after, but made sure to stay several paces behind the whole way back. He hovered in the parking lot while Dean unlocked their room, and headed straight for the bed once inside. He shucked his clothes onto the floor and climbed into bed before digging under his pillow for his little book and beginning to scribble vigorously in it.

Sam waited up for a while but Dean never came to bed. Later he heard the clink of what sounded like several empty beer bottles being knocked over, and soon after, snoring. Sam picked at a scab on his arm and wondered if he should go check on Dean. He didn't want to risk waking him; he wasn't sure how they were supposed to talk to each other.

Sam also wasn't sure whether he should be mad at himself or at Dean, or at both of them. He hadn't been upset about the whole thing, but Dean definitely was. He wasn't sure what had made him stop and hover in front of his brother's face the way he did. Whatever his intention had been, it certainly wasn't to make his brother have an existential crisis and drink himself to sleep on the couch. He hadn't really expected for it to turn into a kiss, although he couldn't say he didn't think about it. Sam eventually exhausted himself and decided to turn in. He fell asleep clutching his book in one hand.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Thursday 17 May**

During the day, things were pretty normal. There was a tension in the air that wasn't there before, maybe they were a little short with each other, but things felt… okay. Sam went to school, Dean had food ready when he came home, they went about their day and no one mentioned Saturday night. But at night, Dean was still sleeping on the couch. He had moved most of his stuff into the living room as well. And he was still drinking himself to sleep. Sam couldn't help but feel like this was all his fault, and he didn't know how to fix it. He had somehow broken his brother. He could barely sleep in the bedroom without Dean; he tossed and turned and listened to Dean laughing at the TV in a drunken stupor, or muttering to himself, or knocking things over as he stumbled around the motel. Sam didn't dare leave the bedroom at night; he was afraid of what Dean might say to him when he was loosened up by the alcohol. He didn't want to hear how much Dean hated him.

"I'm gonna go do laundry. You wanna come?" Dean asked. Sam nodded and started gathering up his laundry. Dean brought him a laundry basket, provided by the motel, then went into the living room to gather his own things. Sam stared after him for a moment, watching the muscles of his back shift under his tshirt as his arms swung slightly while he walked.

They walked silently to the laundry room, then lounged on the sidewalk outside while they waited. The afternoon sun beat down on them, the heat surrounding them like a heavy, pulsating blanket. Dean stared down at his hands, trying not to notice how the sun shimmered against Sam's soft skin. He heard Sam sigh and used it as an excuse to look over. Sam was resting his head on his knee, facing Dean, but his eyes were looking far off into the distance.

"You okay, Sammy?" he asked. Sam looked at him but didn't respond, just pulled his knees in closer to his body and pulled his sleeves down aggressively, holding the ends of the fabric in his fists. Dean thought carefully about his words before speaking again. "You haven't… uh, you haven't… done anything, have you? I mean, recently?" He wanted to get his point across without saying anything explicit. He waited, watching Sam's face, trying to determine if Sam understood his question.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, his eyebrows scrunching towards each other. Then he realized what Dean must mean. His face flushed bright red before he buried it in his knees and pulled his hands fully inside his sleeves. "No," he said resentfully into his jeans.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said after a few moments. "I didn't wanna make you feel weird. I just worry about you." He hesitantly reached out to rub Sam's back. Sam flinched initially, then became putty under Dean's touch. Dean's breath hitched in his throat. _God, I hate this,_ he thought absently, not knowing how to pull away. Just in time, he heard the washer ding to indicate the cycle was over. He jumped up and hurried into the laundry room.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Dean carried his clothes into the bedroom when they returned. Sam watched him carefully as he dumped his own clothes onto the bed and began folding them. "Are you sleeping in here tonight?" he asked, wondering if he should just stay quiet, but also needing to know.

"Well, Dad's coming home tonight. He'll need the couch," Dean replied, without looking up from his laundry, which he was folding in a way that Sam wouldn't be able to stop himself from fixing later.

"I thought he was coming back tomorrow?"

Dean stopped folding for a moment and stared at his bed. "Oh. I, uh… I thought it was today. My mistake."

"You can sleep in here anyway," Sam said after a moment, not looking up.

"I know I can, Sammy," said Dean with a sigh, suddenly sounding tired. Sam wasn't sure what to make of this so he didn't say anything. He finished up his laundry and got into his bed, pulling the leather bound book from under his pillow. Dean swept the folded clothes back into the basket on top of unfolded ones and left the room.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Later that night, Sam waited anxiously, wondering if Dean was going to come to bed or stay out on the couch once more. He could hear the TV blaring in the next room. It was almost midnight; he knew he should start trying to sleep since he had school in the morning, but couldn't bring himself to try. Finally, he heard the TV turn off. It was almost ten minutes before he heard footsteps; Dean must have been standing in there wondering what he should do. The door opened and Sam quickly looked down, pretending to be reading. Dean stumbled to his bed, obviously already drunk. Sam heard a _thunk_ and looked over to see that Dean had set a bottle of whiskey down on the table. He laid on top of the blankets in his clothes, boots and all, sweat making his tshirt cling to his chest a little bit.

"Can I turn this off?" he asked, pointing to the light switch on the wall between the two beds. Sam nodded, setting his book on the bedside table and laying down. He kept his eyes open, observing Dean's figure, outlined by light wafting in through the curtain, probably from a street lamp. "You ever just wanna scrub something outta your mind?" Dean slurred loudly. He took a long drink from the bottle. "I jus… I think this'll make it better. But my brain doesn't shut up." He let out a mean sounding laugh. Sam didn't know what to think of Dean's words, and he wasn't sure that he was supposed to speak. Several minutes passed in silence, and Sam thought maybe Dean was just going to go to sleep. Right when Sam was about to close his eyes, Dean spoke. "How come you kissed me, Sammy?"

Sam felt like he had swallowed a brick. He didn't know how to answer. And technically, hadn't Dean kissed him? "I'm sorry," he whispered, pulling his blankets closer. "I won't do it again."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, before sitting up and pulling his boots off. They thudded to the ground at the foot of his bed. He laid down again and took another swig of whiskey. "What if I want you to?"

Sam felt like his heart stopped for a minute. He lay frozen, listening to the sounds of Dean's steady breathing along with his own shaky breaths. "Do you want me to?" he asked, so quietly he barely heard his own voice. The glugging of whiskey exiting its bottle answered him.

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean said, rolling over. Sam lay awake for an hour or so, hearing Dean gradually pull more clothes off as the alcohol made him warm. Sam heard the empty bottle clink as it hit the floor, soon followed by Dean's feet as he made his way to the bathroom to vomit. He spent the rest of the night on the bathroom floor, and when Sam woke up for school he was gone.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .


	5. Chapter 5

**Friday 18 May**

Sam huffed as he exited the shower prematurely; the water had stopped going down the drain and soon after sewage had started backing up into the tub. _So much for a relaxing afternoon,_ he thought. He had had a half day at school and had been looking forward to having a long shower and spending some time outside. Now they would probably have to spend the day quibbling with the motel's manager about having a plumber out, or getting a new room. He heard the motel door open and close, and hurriedly pulled his pants on, wanting to go tell Dean what was going on. He left the bathroom and walked towards the living room while he vigorously towel dried his hair.

"Dean, something's up with the plumbing, I was just taking a shower and-" Sam stopped short as he looked up and met his Dad's eyes, not Dean's. John looked idly at him for a moment, opened his mouth to ask what was up with the plumbing, then stopped and squinted at Sam. Sam's heart dropped. John had already seen.

"What happened, Sam?" John asked, setting his bags down and moving towards Sam. Sam quickly tried to cover himself with the towel, but it was too late. John snatched the towel away and grabbed ahold of Sam's arm. "What the fuck?" He shook Sam. "Explain yourself."

"It's nothing," Sam said, trying to wriggle out of John's grasp.

"Are you… are you _kidding me?_ " John demanded, squeezing Sam's arm. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Dad… you're hurting me," Sam said, panic rising in his chest. His attempts to get free were causing scabs to rip open where John held onto him.

"Oh, _I'm_ hurting you? You're fucking with me, right?" John said with a nasty chuckle. "Me and your brother go out and risk our lives to take care of shit, to do our _jobs,_ and you're sitting around slicing yourself up like some angsty teenage girl?" John let go of Sam and stepped closer to him, staring down at him menacingly. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, kid?" He towered over Sam, breathing like a bull, waiting for an answer.

"I don't know," Sam said quickly, staring at the ground, wanting to retrieve the towel and wrap it around himself. He heard John's mean laugh again, echoing through his head like a winter storm.

John stepped back and Sam relaxed a bit, thinking maybe his dad would just leave it at that, or leave it to be discussed later. He decided to glance up, try to assess how angry John was, but before he could his dad's fist connected with his temple and sent Sam staggering sideways. "Oh, yeah? Well, you'd better _fucking_ figure it out," John bellowed. Sam instinctively ducked the next blow but instantly regretted it; it always made their dad angrier when they tried to get away. It was usually better to just buckle down and take it.

John rumbled with anger as he grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair, slamming his head into the door frame to the bedroom and holding it there. He shouted something that Sam couldn't understand, then slammed his head again. He was winding up for a third blow when he suddenly released Sam and turned around. Sam blinked and tried to force his eyes to focus. He saw Dean standing in the doorway. John lumbered towards him.

"You better not have known about this, you goddamn son of a bitch," John shouted; Dean held his hands up and stepped sideways, trying to put more air between himself and the natural disaster that was their father. His brain fumbled as he tried to figure out what was going on. Then he looked over at Sam and saw that he was shirtless. _Shit._

"Just listen to me for a second, Dad. It's - I'll take care of it, alright? I'm dealing with it."

But John didn't want to hear any of what Dean had to say. He backed Dean into a corner and grabbed him by the throat, pinning him to the wall and lifting his feet a few inches off the ground. "I was gonna take you with me on this hunt. But I guess I can't trust you. I guess you're not _man_ enough to tell me what's going on with my own goddamn kid! So you can stay behind. Have fun playing nurse maid to your goddamn brother, and have fun figuring out how you're gonna put food on the table without me, you goddamn fuck up." He let Dean go and marched over to the kitchen, opening the cabinet to retrieve the coffee can containing the rest of the cash he had left for them when he was away. He shoved the cash into his pocket, picked up his bags, and walked outside to the car, not even bothering to close the door.

The boys stood silently in their respective corners, listening as their dad shouted to some people outside. He had driven up in the Impala, but climbed into a van containing a few other guys. It seemed he had been planning just to stop by and collect Dean before going out on his hunt. The van roared to life and drove away.

After he caught his breath, Dean shut and bolted the door before turning his attention to Sam. He was sitting on the floor near the bedroom door, looking dazed, blood dripping from his arm where John had ripped a scab loose and from just above his eye, split open by the edge of the door frame. Dean wordlessly pulled his brother to his feet and guided him to the bed before disappearing into the bathroom. He returned with a box of bandaids, some gauze, and a damp rag. Sam closed his eyes as Dean dabbed at his head wound, cleaning up the edges and then giving Sam a wad of gauze to hold to it until the bleeding stopped. Dean turned to Sam's arm, wiping up splotches of blood and loose pieces of scab stuck to the skin. Sam tried to pull away.

"Dean, it's fine," Sam insisted. "It will scab over again, it doesn't need to be bandaged." Dean didn't seem to care. He finished wiping up the blood, then spent a few seconds picking the correct size of bandaid before carefully covering the exposed wound. He took the bloodied gauze from Sam and applied another bandaid to his brother's head. "Thanks," Sam said quietly. Dean sat down next to him. "I'm sorry he did that to you. He shouldn't punish you cause I fucked up. And… I know you wanted to go on that hunt. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, it is."

Dean shook his head. "He shouldn't have hit you in the first place. And I know you didn't mean for me to get caught up in it." Dean turned to look at Sam, then reached out and took his hand, breaking a rule he had set for himself after what had happened last Saturday; it wasn't appropriate to hold hands with your brother. But Sam looked so distraught. Sam squeezed his hand. "So... are you gonna tell me why you're doing that yet?" He nodded his head towards Sam's arm. His question was harsh but he spoke gently.

"I already explained as best I can. I dunno what else to tell you."

"You never told me what made you so upset in the first place."

Sam shook his head. "I can't."

"Maybe if you talk about it instead, you won't feel like you need to hurt yourself," Dean said quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Sam's hand. "You seem like you need an outlet."

"I have one," Sam said, gesturing towards the head of his bed. "I write in that book you always ask me about."

"What do you write about?" Dean asked, without much hope for a straight answer. He hadn't gotten one yet.

 _You,_ Sam wanted to say. But he didn't say anything. He just stared down at Dean, who was sitting with one elbow on his knee, supporting his head in his hand. Sam crunched himself into the same position, cocking his head and making a dopey face at Dean. Dean chuckled and sat up to give him a playful shove.

"Don't mock me, you little bitch."

"Jerk," Sam replied, shoving back, causing Dean to flop down onto the bed.

Dean pinched Sam's side and Sam squealed, trying to pin Dean down before he could pinch again. Dean got wise to this, quickly overpowering Sam and flipping him onto his back, holding his wrists still with one hand, and began tickling him mercilessly with the other. Sam had always been very ticklish. He writhed and squealed some more, trying to get away.

Despite himself, Dean found he was focusing more and more on the feeling of Sam's skin under his fingers. Both their smiles slowly faded as Dean's tickling turned into something more like stroking, before his hand came to a halt on Sam's waist. Dean looked down at Sam's stomach, observing the spot where his skin touched his brother's. He slid his hand slowly up Sam's side and onto his chest. He looked back at Sam, meeting his eyes and seeing a kind of honesty there that had been absent in Sam's words recently. Their faces were too close for Dean's comfort.

"It's okay," Sam said softly. He gently pulled his hands free and placed one on Dean's cheek before sliding his fingers through the short hair. Sam rested his hand on the back of his brother's head, trying to show him what he wanted without actually applying pressure. He thought about Dean's words last night; _What if I want you to?_

Dean inhaled sharply before leaning down and pressing his lips against Sam's. He needed to know if the electricity he had felt on Saturday had just been the alcohol. He felt Sam's arms slide around his neck, felt him melting into the bed beneath him. He pulled away before it could go any further, pushing himself off the bed and heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, feeling stunned.

"I'm just gonna go for a walk," Dean said over his shoulder. He didn't want to let himself see Sam again; sprawled out on the bed like that, bare torso surrounded by lanky limbs.

"Can I come?"

Dean stared into the living room and thought about this. "Uh, yeah, of course you can, Sam. I just need a minute. Meet me outside in ten, alright?" He hurried out of the bedroom and went outside, climbing into the driver's seat of the Impala, which still had the keys in the ignition. He leaned back and pressed his head into the leather, breathing hard. Beads of sweat quickly accumulated on his face in the stiflingly hot car, the black metal absorbing every drop of sunlight. He tried to ignore what was going on in his pants, to will it to stop. After a minute or so, he succumbed, hastily unbuttoning his jeans and wrapping a hand around his length. He opened his eyes and stared at the roof of the car, trying to clear his mind without any luck. He shut his eyes again and moved his hand faster, _Let's just get this over with._ Sam's face floated around Dean's mind no matter how hard he tried to stop it, or replace it with the face of a girl he saw at a bar a few days ago. Despite his efforts, images of Sam danced behind his eyes. Sam sitting in the grass with his shirt open at the water hole. Sam leaning against the Impala outside the school, giving Dean that impossible look. The shape of Sam's mouth when he told Dean, _It's okay._ Dean came aggressively, splattering his shirt and the steering wheel. He gave himself a few moments to gather his thoughts before looking around for something to clean up with; Sam would be coming outside any minute.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Dean entered the motel and headed for the kitchen to find something to eat. After his walk with Sam, he had spent the evening asking around town to see if there were any jobs he could pick up; he didn't know how long John was going to be gone, and the cupboards were already looking bare. He hadn't had much luck, although a girl at the corner store had told him to ask at the local mechanic's shop in the morning.

He entered their bedroom quietly, unsure if Sam would be awake. He wasn't. He walked into the bathroom, keen on a shower, before remembering the plumbing issue. Sewage was still sitting in the bottom of the tub, although there was less now than there had been earlier. He made a mental note to talk to the manager in the morning before he went to see the mechanic, and settled for wiping himself down with a washcloth and water from the sink.

He peeled his clothes off and left them on the floor between the bed and the wall. He chuckled when he noticed that his forgotten basket of laundry had been folded and put away in the dresser; Sam just couldn't help himself when it came to that sort of thing. He climbed into bed naked, the day's heat still lingered inside the motel. The AC was on, but obviously not high enough, and it didn't help that Sam had kept the door to the bedroom shut all day. The unit was in the living room window and he was too tired to get out of bed and turn it up, or even get up to open their door. He was laying on top of his sheet, and made another mental note to make sure he covered himself before going to sleep. He didn't need Sam waking up to him completely naked. Especially not with how things had been.

Dean swore quietly when he realized that his dick was having a mind of its own again. _Go away,_ he thought angrily. He just wanted to sleep.

Sam lay silently in the other bed. He had woken up when his brother was rustling about in the bathroom, but pretended he was still asleep because Dean seemed cranky and he didn't want to risk upsetting him. They had had a nice time earlier; things seemed okay, and Dean hadn't mentioned what happened before their walk. Sam wasn't taking any more chances that day.

He heard Dean swear and wondered what was going on. He kept still and observed Dean's shadow in the dark room. After a few minutes, he saw Dean moving. He heard his breathing pick up, and then the unmistakable sound of skin on skin. Sam's eyes widened. Dean was getting himself off, right there, just a few feet away. It wasn't like this hadn't happened before, but this time Sam couldn't look away. Dean groaned and Sam felt himself getting hard. He began to slowly push his boxers down, trying to make as little noise as possible. He wrapped a hand around himself and began moving it up and down, his eyes glued to Dean's dark outline. He was already embarrassingly close.

Dean groaned again, his breath hitching. Sam saw him lifting his hips in a rhythm, fucking his hand. He let out a small noise in spite of himself. Dean stilled, his hand still on his cock, listening. _The fuck was that?_ Feeling bold, Sam kept going. He let his hand slap loudly against his stomach every time he reached the base of his dick. Dean remained motionless for a few more moments, then slowly picked up the pace again. Sam's heart and cock jumped excitedly, and he allowed himself another quiet moan. Dean made a strangled sound as he came, his upper body curling forward slightly. Sam followed soon after. Dean lay still for several minutes, catching his breath, before he rolled over to face the bathroom wall and pulled the sheet over himself. Sam rolled over too, pulling his boxers back up. He smiled to himself and fell asleep easily. He slept well that night.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .


	6. Chapter 6

**Wednesday 30 May**

Sam awoke to Dean yelling his name. He had been napping on the hood of the Impala, sunning himself after school. He sat up, shielding his eyes from the sun, and looked around for Dean. The towel he had been laying on came up with him, sweat adhering it to his bare back. He didn't see his brother outside, so he slid off the car and padded over to the open door, wincing as the pavement burned his feet. It was a whopping 92° outside.

Dean was in the kitchen fussing at the stove. "You want a burger?"

"Sure," Sam said. He opened the fridge and pushed things about, examining the contents. "I'm gonna make a salad to go with it. Should I make you some?" Dean scoffed and Sam rolled his eyes. "You know, vegetables aren't as evil as you seem to think they are." He made himself a space on the counter and started chopping his ingredients. Dean glanced at him.

"You wanna put some clothes on?"

"Not really, I'm all sweaty," Sam replied. "I was baking in the sun for like an hour after when I asked you to wake me up."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't snark at me, it just slipped my mind. Do you really have to lay around outside naked anyway? There _are_ other people staying here."

"So what? I'm not naked. I'm allowed to enjoy the weather. I wanna get a tan."

Dean laughed at this. "What for?"

"Well, why not?"

Dean rolled his eyes again. "Get dressed after you eat then. You won't be sweaty by then."

"Sure I will, there's no AC in here! What are you whining about? Not enjoying the view?"

Sam earned himself a stern look. He sighed and turned his attention back to his salad. He knew he probably shouldn't have said that. Things had been good between them; they hadn't spoken about their not-so-brotherly interactions and nothing had happened since. Part of this was probably due to the fact that they were seeing each other less; Sam was still in school and Dean had taken a part time job at a mechanic's in town, working long hours every Monday, Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday. He had made a few friends there as well and often went out with them after work or on his days off, not coming home until late. Sam wasn't sure if his brother was avoiding him or just enjoying himself.

They had moved into a new room a few doors down from the old one after the plumbing mishap. While the layout was identical, this one was better in a few ways: nicer furniture, bigger beds, better water pressure, ceiling fans, and a "porch" (two plastic chairs on the concrete) in the shade. However, the air conditioner didn't seem to work at all. The room was stiflingly hot most of the time. During day and while they were both home, they kept the door and windows open with the fans going. However, Dean's hunter instincts kicked in at night and he insisted they keep the door locked and only open a window if it was within eyeshot. This prevented the cool night air from ever getting in, so the room was hot as hell at night too.

Sam finished chopping vegetables and went to the bedroom to grudgingly pull a tshirt over his sticky torso. Truth be told, he was enjoying being able to expose his skin again. His brother already knew about the cuts, and they were healing into scars now so he didn't feel as weird about letting Dean see. As a result, he had ditched the flannels and jeans for tshirts and cargo shorts, sometimes less.

"Hey, I'm off work the rest of the week. Owner's going out of town I guess. Whaddya say we go camping for a couple days? My buddy has a tent he'll let me use," Dean told Sam when he returned to the kitchen.

"I have school though," Sam reminded him.

"So what? School's almost out, you can't have much going on. You told me today was your last test day."

"They're preparing us for next year and explaining the summer work. Plus we're having some sort of end of year celebration next Tuesday. I _have_ actually made some friends, you know, and I want to say goodbye. Who knows if we're actually staying til next year."

"We'll be back before _next week,_ dude. I'm talking a couple days, not a whole week. C'mon, skip the boring stuff and you'll be back in time for the fun stuff on Tuesday."

Sam furrowed his brow and pouted. "I dunno, Dean."

Dean shook his head and started moving burgers onto buns. He didn't understand why Sam was so hell-bent on attending school. He had always had good grades, even with all their moving around. Missing two days wouldn't affect him. "Alright, I'll make you a deal. I'll eat some goddamn salad if you agree to come camping with me. Okay?"

Sam laughed, his face lighting up as he whisked his salad dressing. A small smile spread over Dean's face. Sam didn't look like that too much anymore, although he had seemed to be in a good mood the past week or so, and had been laughing more often. "I'll believe _that_ when I see it. Salad first, then I'll think about it."

They pulled the TV in front of the door so they could eat dinner in the lawn chairs outside and still be able to see it. The sun was getting low in the sky and the temperature had dropped a few degrees, plus there was a nice breeze going. It would be nicer than sitting inside and sticking to the leather couch.

The two boys sat down and Dean began reluctantly picking at his salad, regarding it as one might a bowl of medical waste. Sam giggled and Dean flicked a piece of lettuce at him. "Hey!" Sam protested. "Every piece of that you don't eat is one less hour I'm spending in a tent."

Dean made a scornful sound but started eating it anyway. He wasn't sure how serious Sam's comment was, but he didn't want to risk it. He really wanted Sam to agree to go. They hadn't been spending much time together recently, and he didn't want to seem like he was avoiding his brother. Although, he couldn't say he _wasn't_ avoiding Sam while still being completely honest. Not that he exactly wanted to, but sometimes coming home after Sam was asleep just seemed easier.

"Fine, I'll go," Sam announced once they had finished their food.

Dean grinned. "You mean it?" Sam nodded. "Alright, great, I'll call Jacob in the morning."

"Who's Jacob?"

"The buddy from work I told you about who'll lend me his tent. He's been here a couple times, you've met him. Little taller than me, black hair. You know."

Sam thought for a second before nodding. "Right, Jacob. I remember him." He stared at the TV for a little bit before asking, "Is that who was over two nights ago?"

Dean looked upwards and thought back. "Uh, yeah, that was him. He just stopped by for a beer before he went home. He doesn't live too far from here. Why?"

"Oh. Uh… no reason, you guys were just being kinda loud. Was just wondering who you were with." Sam fiddled with his dishes, scraping his fork back and forth in his salad bowl, wondering if it was a good idea to ask his next question. "You guys are just friends, right?"

It was several seconds before Dean said anything. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Why aren't you answering?" Sam said without missing a beat.

"Uh… yeah, Sammy, we're just friends."

"So you never messed around with him or anything?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. Sam must have heard something that night. _Dammit, is that kid ever actually asleep or does he just pretend so he can spy on me?_ "Well, we might have… messed around before."

"But you _just_ said you're only friends."

"We _are_ friends, Sammy."

"You fuck all your friends?" Sam asked sharply. Dean turned his head and gave him a puzzled look.

"Why've you got a bug up your butt about this?" Dean sighed. "Look, I'm sorry if you… heard us… that night. I thought you were sleeping. It was like two in the morning."

"So you like guys now?"

"I - I don't know, Sam."

"Well you've got yourself a boyfriend, seems like a good time to figure that out."

"He's not my goddamn _boyfriend,_ okay. We just fooled around a couple times. I'm sorry I brought him here. I didn't think you'd hear."

"I just thought we told each other things."

"Well, _what,_ Sam, you want me to tell you every time I sleep with someone? Alright, let me see, since we got here there's been Susan, Jamie -"

"That's not what I _mean,_ and you know it," Sam snapped.

"Actually, I don't know it. Just say what you mean."

Sam squirmed. "You've just never told me about sleeping with a guy before. I didn't know you were into guys."

"I've never done it before now," Dean mumbled.

"Oh." Sam moved leftover dressing around in his bowl. "Why are you doing it now?"

"I dunno. It just kind of happened. He's… a good looking guy, you know. You've seen him. And he's nice. We went out drinking a few times and, yanno, things happen."

"Do you still like girls?"

Dean nodded, staring down at his hands. "Yeah, definitely. I still don't know if I like guys too, or just _this_ guy." Sam seemed satisfied with that. At least for the time being. He stood up and took their dishes inside. He moved the TV back then returned to the kitchen. Dean heard the sound of water running and dishes clinking against the metal sink. He remained in the chair, thinking about their conversation, and about Jacob. He wished he hadn't brought him home that night.

"You coming in?" Sam called from the kitchen. "It's getting dark out."

"No, I'm gonna stay out for a bit. You can go ahead and close up, just leave the door unlocked. I'll be in soon." He pulled a cigarette out of his pants pocket and lit it.

"Since when do you smoke?" Sam demanded, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

"Uh… Jake got me into it I guess," he said rather sheepishly. "I was always seeing him smoking, so I bummed a few off him, and I liked it so I bought my own."

"Well, don't get that smell inside," Sam said, and closed the door without another word. Dean stared at the door for a moment before angrily jamming his cigarette into the ground. He hung his head between his legs and closed his eyes.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .


	7. Chapter 7

**Thursday 31 May**

Dean woke up early the next day to call Jacob and pick up the tent. He was excited for their little trip. He knew a nice spot in the mountains about half an hour away. It had a lot of interesting terrain and big clearing that would be good for pitching a tent. There was a good view of the sunset from the clearing and a good view of the sunrise from a nearby peak. He had considered taking Sam back to the water hole near the motel - grass would be more comfortable to sleep on than the rocky ground at the other spot - but he didn't really want to go back there with Sam. Not after what had happened the last time.

On the drive back to the motel, Dean thought about the conversation he had had with Sam yesterday. What he hadn't told his brother about that night with Jacob, is that they only went back to the motel after being chased away from the water hole by cops. He worried Sam might have felt… betrayed? if he knew about that. Dean didn't want to explore the exact reasons _why_ he thought Sam might feel that way.

He remembered how Sam had called Jacob his boyfriend. How accurate was that? Dean shook his head to himself. No, it was not accurate at all. They were just friends, they enjoyed each other's company. And if Jake could help Dean figure out some things about himself along the way, that was just a bonus. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed guys before, it was just that public school wasn't exactly the most welcoming place to experiment. And John would have shit a brick if Dean brought home a guy. It had just always been easier to stick with girls.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

They headed out around 3pm. Neither of them had pitched a tent before, so Dean wanted to make sure they had plenty of time to figure it out before the sun went down. Jake had shown him how to do it that morning, but Dean wasn't very confident in his abilities. Besides, he had been a little distracted; scrambled thoughts of Jake and Sam floating around his head.

"Where are we going again?" Sam asked.

"I don't think it has a name or anything, it's just a nice spot I found. I think you'll like it, there's a great view. We'll have to hike out a little bit to get to where we can pitch the tent, but we won't be too far from the car."

Sam nodded. "You find it with Jacob?"

Dean sighed. "Is this how it's gonna be?"

"What? It was just a question. Don't answer it if you don't want to," Sam grumbled.

"Well, _no,_ I did not find it with Jake, for your information. I found it on my own, last week. It's what gave me the idea to do this."

Sam nodded and stayed quiet for a few minutes. "If you don't want me to ask about Jacob, I won't," he said.

Dean shook his head. "I don't mind, so long as you don't have that disapproving tone in your voice."

"I didn't have any _tone_!"

"You kinda did," Dean chuckled.

"Well, it wasn't on purpose. I'm just curious. I don't care who you date, Dean." Dean opened his mouth to say he wasn't _dating_ anyone, but Sam shushed him before he could get a word out. "Yeah, yeah, I know. What I'm trying to say is, I don't care if you want to… do things… with a guy. I'm not dad. And if you're gonna be spending a lot of time with this… _Jake,_ I wouldn't mind getting to know him a little."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"What, did you think I was homophobic or something?"

"No, I just… Never mind," Dean said, shaking his head. "I'm glad you want to get to know him."

"Dean Winchester, is that the color _red_ I see on your face?" Sam reached out to poke Dean's cheek. "You're blushing, you schoolgirl!"

"I am _not,_ " Dean insisted, pushing Sam's hand away with a laugh.

"You really like him, huh?"

"Uh… I dunno," Dean said quietly; he could definitely feel his face heating up now. Sam just smiled and scribbled something in his little leather notebook.

"Someone's got a cru-ush," Sam sang, earning himself a hard pinch from Dean.

"You cut it out already, or I'll goddamn kill you, kid, I swear." Dean tickled his brother to the best of his ability while still watching the road. Peels of laughter filled the car and floated out the window. Sam went back to writing, a smile still on his face. Dean hadn't expected Sam to be accepting of his… whatever was going on with Jacob, but he was glad it wasn't going to be yet another source of tension between them.

Once they arrived at the spot, it took about ten minutes to hike up to the spot where they would be camping. It took several trips to carry everything from the car up to the clearing, and they were both out of breath by the time they had finished. They sat with their legs dangling off the edge of a cliff in the clearing, looking out towards where the sunset would be later on. Dean held a beer and Sam held a bottle of water.

"Alright, let's figure out this tent," Dean said, downing the rest of his beer in one gulp. They stood and made their way over to their pile of stuff. After over an hour of struggling, sweating, tangled tent fabric, and countless accidental jabs with tent poles, they managed to get the thing up. They stood back and admired their work for a moment before Sam went about organizing their things inside the tent. Dean was not allowed to participate in this activity because, Sam's words, he "didn't know a thing about practical organization". Dean had just rolled his eyes and cracked open another beer. He sat crosslegged in front of the tent and watched Sam bustling about. The kid _did_ kind of have a knack for this sort of thing.

"You wanna go for a hike before it gets dark? We've got about an hour," Dean suggested when Sam was done with his organizing. Sam agreed. "Okay, c'mon, I'll show you where we'll be able to see the sunrise from in the morning." Dean took Sam up to the top of the peak behind the clearing. It only took about fifteen minutes to get up there, so they explored a little more around the campsite. They returned to the tent right as the sun began to set. Dean got himself another beer and offered one to Sam, who accepted. They sat at the entrance to the tent and observed the sky.

"I've never really been drunk," Sam said idly.

Dean thought about this. "Do you want to be?"

"Well, I don't want to throw up."

Dean chuckled. "Well, if you drink enough beer to really get drunk, you just might. Hang on a second." He leaned back into the tent and came out with a bottle of whiskey. "Here, this'll get the job done with less liquid. You won't feel as sick if you drink a smaller amount."

Sam eyed the bottle skeptically. "I feel like that probably tastes like paint."

Dean laughed again. "Well, it's not exactly orange juice. You don't have to, I'm just offering." He poured some into his beer bottle to replace what he had already consumed.

Sam held out his own bottle. "Do that to mine." Dean smiled and tipped two or three shots into the bottle. He didn't want Sam to be completely blotto so close to a cliff. He lit a cigarette and leaned back to watch Sam have his first taste of hard liquor. Sam's face immediately scrunched up and he gave Dean a dirty look, still holding the alcohol in his cheeks.

"How do you drink this stuff straight?" he demanded, after finally managing to choke it down.

"Well, if you wanna get drunk bad enough, you get over it," Dean replied. "Plus, the drunker you are, the better it tastes."

"We'll see about that," Sam muttered, gingerly tipping more liquid into his mouth. Dean found himself staring at Sam's lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle, but quickly pried his eyes away.

Soon after the sun dropped, so did the temperature. They both put on sweaters and stayed outside until it got completely dark. They tried to look at the stars, but it was a little cloudy out, so they retreated to the tent and climbed into the sleeping bag. They only had one, but it was plenty big enough for the two of them.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam said thickly, a few minutes after they had settled in. He was definitely a little drunk, but not so much that he would be hung over the next day. Dean had a pleasant buzz going himself.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Sammy Sam."

"How did you realize you liked boys?"

Dean hesitated before answering. "Well, I told you, I'm not sure if I do."

"Well, how do you find out?"

"Uh… you try it, I guess."

"Is that what you're doing with Jacob?"

"I guess." Dean sat up and unzipped the tent, lighting another cigarette. He looked down at Sam. "Do _you_ like guys?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't done anything with a guy before. Except..." He glanced at Dean as he trailed off and readjusted in the sleeping bag. "I haven't done anything with a girl before either. So I guess I don't know either way."

"Well… you ever feel anything when you talk to someone? Someone you think is… cute, or whatever?"

"What do you mean 'feel anything'?"

"Uh… like, you… wanna spend time with them, get to know them, whatever. But like, as more than friends. It's like, you want… to be close to them.

Like - oh, you gotta know what it's like to have a crush, Sammy, don't do this to me."

Sam cackled. "Yeah, I know what a crush is. I also know how you'd rather eat your own toe than talk about your feelings. I just thought it would be funny to watch you try to answer that. And it was."

"You fucker," Dean muttered with a smile, tracing a pattern in the dirt with his finger.

"Anyway, yeah, I guess I've felt that way before. It's hard for anything to really happen when we move as much as we do though."

"Yeah, I know." Dean sighed. "So… you feel that way about guys or girls?"

"Well… I guess both."

"There's your answer then."

Sam nodded, even though he was pretty sure Dean couldn't see him in the dark. He sat up and moved over to the opening of the tent. "Lemme try," he demanded, holding out a hand.

"I dunno, Sam."

"C'mon, you'll offer me a bottle of whiskey but you won't let me take one hit off a cigarette?"

"Alright, I guess you have a point," Dean said, handing over his cigarette. Sam took a small hit and exhaled with a cough. He considered it for a moment, then took another draw.

"It's not bad," he reported, exhaling with more grace this time and handing the cigarette back. He climbed into the sleeping bag again and Dean joined him a minute or two later. "Hey, Dean?" he said again.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something else? Something kinda personal?"

"You realize you ask me something kinda personal, like, every five minutes, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes and gave Dean a playful shove. "Alright then." He collected his thoughts before proceeding. "How did it happen between you and Jacob?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe I do, but can you be more specific?"

"I mean… how did you know you liked him? How did you guys get around to… you know… fooling around? Or whatever."

"Oh. Well… we were just coworkers, I guess. We hit it off while we were at the shop together. We just had real easy conversation, you know. Like we'd known each other forever. One day, he told me he was going out for drinks with a few other guys from work and told me I could go along if I wanted. So I did. We sat next to each other at the bar, and I thought he was flirting with me, but I was kinda drunk and I wasn't sure. And he seemed like he was kinda flirting with the bartender too, so I figured that was just how he was. Then a few days later, he asked me if I wanted to go for drinks again. I assumed it was another group thing, but when I got there, it was just us."

"So he had been flirting with you after all?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Dean smiled to himself.

"So what happened on your date?"

It was Dean's turn to shove Sam. "It wasn't a _date,_ stop using that word."

"Okay, whatever. So what happened?" 

"Well, I dunno, we just hung out. We sat at a table instead of the bar, talked, got some food. I still wasn't sure what was going on, but then he leaned over the table and started talking real close to my ear, all low like, and he, uh… he grabbed my leg, under the table. So… you can't be more direct than that, I guess."

Sam giggled. "So what else do you guys do, besides play grab-ass in bars?"

"You really are a shit, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do. Go on now."

"Well, one day he showed me around town. Showed me all the places he likes to go. Albuquerque is a cool place."

"And what happened the night you decided to play grab-ass in our motel room instead? Just needed a change in scenery?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. We met at the bar after work, and we ended up, uh… making out in the car -"

"Oh, Christ, and you let me sit in there afterwards?"

"That car has seen worse, Sammy. We were in the back seat anyway. You wanna hear the rest or not? You're not gonna get this outta me when I'm sober."

"Alright, I'm sorry. No more snarky comments, I promise."

"Yeah, sure, punk. Anyway, we were… yanno… but some cop knocked on the window and told us to get lost. He lives with a couple roommates, so I told him we could go back to the motel."

"You live with a roommate too, you know. A roommate who heard a lot more than he needed to."

"What happened to 'no more snarky comments, you _prooooomiiiise_ '?"

"O _kay,_ okay. I mean it this time. Go on."

"Well, there's not much else to tell. We went back to the motel."

"And what did you do?"

"You know what we _did,_ Sammy, c'mon. You were just whining about hearing us."

"I didn't _see_ anything, though. I don't know what you were doing. Give me some details."

Dean looked at Sam as best he could in the dark. There was a little moonlight, and his eyes had adjusted. He couldn't make out what Sam was thinking, though. Even when he was drunk, Sam really knew how to run circles around him; how to keep him guessing.

"Well…" He wasn't sure he should go along with this, but Sam didn't seem like he was going to leave it alone. And honestly, it had been a fun night. He wouldn't mind reliving it, and he didn't have anyone else to share it with. "We came in, he sat down on the couch and I got us both a beer. I sat on the couch too and he, uh… he sorta pulled my legs onto his lap. We drank our beer and talked… flirted, whatever… and then I kissed him. Then he - you sure you wanna hear all this, Sam?"

"Yes," Sam said, a quiet certainty is his voice.

Dean swallowed, his throat feeling dry, then continued. "Then he… he took my shirt off, and I took off his. I told him I hadn't been with a guy before, and he was nice about it. Said we didn't have to do anything I didn't wanna do. He undid my jeans and uh… he touched me. We took off our pants and he got on top of me… I was sitting up, and he uh... straddled me, I guess. And…" Dean trailed off. He just didn't know how to say all this out loud, especially to his little brother.

"Did he grind on you?" Sam asked, his voice low.

"Yeah, he did."

"Did you touch him?"

"Yeah, I uh… I went down on him."

"Did you like it? Sucking his cock?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel himself getting hard, and he wasn't sure if it was because he was remembering that night with Jacob or because of the way Sam said those words. He had never heard Sam's voice sound quite the way it did now. "Yeah, I did," he said finally. His breath hitched when he felt Sam's hand touch his thigh. It slipped under Dean's shirt and Sam pulled him closer. Dean let him.

"Did he suck your cock too?" Sam asked. They were so close Dean could feel Sam's breath on his face. He let his head tilt forward so his forehead was resting on his brother's, the tips of their noses touching.

"Yeah."

"How did it feel?"

"It felt… really nice," Dean said shakily, taking a deep breath in and exhaling slowly. Sam took his hand out from under Dean's shirt and placed it on his face instead, running his thumb along his jaw. Dean let Sam tilt his face until their lips met. Sam kissed him gently, and Dean felt like his whole body was on fire. Dean wanted to grab his brother's face and bring their lips crashing together, wanted to kiss him violently until their teeth clacked. Sam moved his hand back down, and Dean felt him fumbling with his belt. He undid it himself and allowed Sam to unbutton his jeans, pull the zipper down, and slip a hand inside. Sam rubbed Dean's cock through his briefs, and Dean rocked back against him, against his better judgement. He could feel the rational part of his brain shutting down, succumbing to lust and alcohol. Sam broke the kiss and went back to resting his forehead against Dean's.

"Will you take these off?" Sam asked, tugging at the waistband of the jeans. Dean obeyed, and heard Sam pulling his shorts off as well. Soon, Sam's hand was back on his cock. He rubbed over the fabric for another minute before tentatively slipping his hand inside the briefs, taking Dean's dick in his hand. Dean shuddered. "How does that feel?"

 _Jesus Christ._ "It… it feels good, Sammy."

"Will you touch me?"

Dean shut his eyes again and grabbed Sam's hip, squeezing hard. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's… wrong. I can't do that to you."

Sam nodded. "It's okay," he breathed. He let go of Dean's cock and stroked his cheek gently. Dean took another deep breath and exhaled shakily, feeling his skin buzzing where Sam's fingers touched. He pulled Sam closer so their hips met. Sam dragged his fingers up and down Dean's back before placing his palm firmly on the small of his back. He pressed his hips into Dean, grinding up and down against him. Dean started moving his hips in time with Sam's. Sam moaned. "Remember that night when you came home late, you were in bed, I think you thought I was asleep…"

Dean nodded, the memory coming back to him with a twinge of embarrassment. "I remember."

"You were touching yourself."

Dean didn't respond. He dipped his head and buried it in Sam's neck, rocking his hips faster, feeling warmth starting too pool in his stomach.

"What were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about you," Dean said, without thinking.

"How did it make you feel when you realized I was jacking off too?"

"I… I dunno, Sam," he responded. Sam's voice sounded far away.

"Did it turn you on?"

"God, Sammy," Dean groaned. He grabbed Sam's face and kissed him, not bothering to hold back this time. He moaned into his brother's mouth.

"I'm gonna cum," Sam whispered. That was enough to send Dean over the edge, Sam following soon after. Neither of them moved afterwards, they just laid there, catching their breath, foreheads touching once again.

"I need a cigarette," Dean said shakily, pushing himself into a sitting position. He opened the tent and sat facing out. Sam joined him at the mouth of the tent, facing inwards. It reminded Dean of how they had been sitting during that first kiss, back at the water hole. Sam slid an arm around Dean's stomach and laid his head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

Dean sighed. "You don't have to be sorry."

"Can I have a cigarette?"

Dean handed him a cigarette and a lighter without any protest. _I guess after what I just did to him, a cigarette isn't a big deal._ Sam lit it and laid down, staring up at the stars. The sky was much clearer now than it had been earlier. He wasn't sure how he felt. Part of him felt excited, exhilarated even, but part of him felt bad. Dean had told him he didn't need to apologize, so why did he still feel sorry? He reached for his brother's hand and held it lightly. Dean ran his thumb over the back of his hand, something that had become a familiar feeling. When Sam's cigarette was almost gone, he sat up.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Dean took a long drag on his cigarette, tossed it aside, and exhaled a big cloud of smoke. "Sure, Sammy." Sam leaned over and pressed his lips against Dean's. Dean felt tears gathering in his eyes. Sam pulled away and squeezed Dean's hand lightly before discarding his own cigarette and climbing back into the sleeping bag. Dean stayed where he was, silent tears crawling down his face. He couldn't bring himself to have a full thought about anything that had just happened. He let out a long, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself. He lit another cigarette.

Sam waited patiently inside the tent, watching Dean's back, his figure faintly illuminated by the light from the moon and stars. Fifteen or so minutes passed before Dean returned. Sam rolled over to face the outside of the tent and scooted backwards towards his brother, who laid an arm over him and gave him a gentle squeeze. Dean nuzzled Sam's hair. It smelled like fruity shampoo and smoke.

"I really… I really care about you, Sammy," he whispered.

Sam was silent for a minute. "That's pretty gay, Dean." They both chuckled.

"You little bitch."

"Jerk."

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .


	8. Chapter 8

**Friday 1 June**

The boys slept through the sunset the following morning. Sam tried to get up at some point but Dean pulled him back, saying "Let's just sleep a little longer". Sam obliged and they lay there for several hours, a slowly shifting mass of clothes and blankets and tangled limbs. They stayed in the tent until it got too hot to bear, around one in the afternoon. Sam emerged from the tent first, taking a deep breath of fresh air. He took a blanket with him and began looking for a nice spot to bask in the sun. He found one, then returned to the tent to pull off his shirt and toss it inside. Dean crawled to the mouth of the tent and lit a cigarette, watching the muscles of Sam's bare back shift under his skin as he walked away.

Once he had finished his cigarette, Dean grabbed another blanket and followed his brother. He laid his blanket out, the edge touching Sam's, and sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him and discarding his own shirt. He looked down at Sam, his face glistening in the sun, a thin sheen of sweat covering his body. Sam opened an eye to look at Dean.

"Why're you staring at me?" he demanded.

Dean leaned down until their lips met. He kissed Sam, long and lazy, only pulling away when he felt like he needed to come up for air or else he would suffocate. He kept his eyes closed as he sat back, tilting his face towards the sun. He sucked in the warm air, savoring the smell. This kind of red rock did something to the air that wasn't there anywhere else. Dean had always loved trees, lush grass, seeing green everywhere you looked; but the desert held something special as well. Something different.

The two didn't speak much that day. After the sun sank a little bit and the heat wasn't so overbearing, they decided to go on a hike. They set off in a different direction than yesterday; this path had rougher terrain, and at some point they realized they wouldn't be able to make it all the way to the top of this particular peak. Dean found a shady spot and they both sat down. Sam scooted close to Dean; not so close that they actually touched, but close enough to feel the electricity coming off each other's skin. Dean gave a small smile and stared down at his hands.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

Dean considered the question before replying, "Yeah, of course."

"What are you thinking about?" 

"Uh… I guess, I'm thinking about what things woulda been like if we'd had a normal childhood. Like, if we just grew up in Lawrence… you'd be a regular at some local coffee shop, part of some nerdy club after school." Sam leaned over and bumped Dean with his shoulder, smiling. "Hey, maybe I'd be about to graduate. Maybe I'd have my own car. Maybe… Dad wouldn't be how he is, yanno."

"You're thinking… maybe we wouldn't be how we are, either?"

Dean turned his head to meet his brother's gaze. "I like how we are, Sammy. I just wish you'd had it easier."

"I'm okay, Dean."

Dean nodded and turned his attention to collecting little red pebbles and arranging them in a circle on the ground in front of him. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you okay with me and Jacob?"

Sam shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be? He seemed fine the couple times I saw him. If he's nice to you, that's all that matters to me." He deposited a handful of pebbles near Dean's pebble art. Dean sighed. There was one variable in this situation that Sam's answer hadn't addressed. But Dean decided to leave it at that.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

It started raining as they headed back to camp. The sun was just sliding below the horizon.

"Alright, I hate to tell you this, but that tent isn't waterproof," Dean said as they approached.

Sam scoffed. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, unfortunately, I am. Jake made a point of telling me that. I didn't expect it to rain… goddamn desert… I guess we should head for the car soon if it doesn't stop."

The rain quickly picked up. They started packing up things they wanted to have for the night, just what each of them could carry in one trip. Dean worked on deconstructing the tent while Sam stacked everything else into a pile against the peak behind the clearing. Sam pulled the tarp from under the tent, tucking it around the pile. It should be fine until morning.

They were both thoroughly damp by the time they reached the car. The night and the rain had lowered the temperature significantly; Dean turned on the car and cranked up the heat, wanting to warm them up and dry their clothes. Sam pulled his pants off and lay them over the dashboard to dry; Dean followed suit.

Not long after they arrived at the car, the skies unleashed a proper downpour. Rain thundered on the roof of the Impala, muffling their voices. Dean cracked his door and set a beer on the ground, to be cooled by the night air, as the ice in the cooler had long since become just water.

"You want one?" he asked Sam.

Sam shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

Dean nodded and leaned back, closing his eyes. A few minutes later, Sam tapped him on the shoulder and presented a deck of cards and a tiny reading lamp, meant to be clipped to the cover of a book while you read in the dark. Dean smiled and they clambered into the back seat, each sitting crosslegged with their backs against opposite doors. Sam wedged the light into the back of the seat and adjusted it to point down at the leather between them. Dean dealt them each eleven cards.

"We're playing Rummy?" Sam asked. Dean nodded. Half way through their card game, the rain stopped abruptly.

"Goddamn desert," Dean grumbled.

"You wanna sit outside?"

"Sure, why not. I was gonna kick your ass anyway."

"Oh, bullshit, I've got, like, five more things down than you and only three cards left!" Sam snatched Dean's cards out of his hand and tucked them back into the box, and tucked that back into his bag. He grabbed the blanket he had brought and got out of the car to dry the hood with it. Dean then laid the sleeping bag down over the hood and windshield and they both climbed up, Dean holding his beer in one hand. The sky was perfectly clear now, stars blinking down at them.

"The sky sure is big out here, huh?"

"It's the same size it is everywhere else, Dean."

"Oh, you know what I mean. There nothing to interrupt it out here. There's nothing too tall in the city, so if you hike five minutes up any mountain you're already higher than all the buildings. And there's not as much light." Dean turned his head to the left and looked down at the city, just specks of yellowish light in the distance. It looked so small. It made him feel small. He lit a cigarette and offered one to Sam, who took it. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he was trying not to let his reservations get to him, about the cigarette or about anything else. He was trying to just enjoy himself. Real life could wait back at the motel.

Sam watched his brother looking out at the city. He wanted to ask what he was thinking about again, but felt like he probably wouldn't get an honest answer this time. He held his cigarette smoke in his lungs for several seconds, letting the nicotine go to his head. He flicked the butt away and heard it sizzle when it hit the damp ground. He heard Dean lighting another one. He rolled onto his side and rested his head on his brother's shoulder. They stayed like that for a while, until Dean rolled over too and brought their foreheads together. He took a long drag off his cigarette and tilted his face inwards. Sam caught his drift and parted his lips, inhaling Dean's smoke. It was warm, and smoother than a direct hit.

They stayed on the hood of the car, sleeping on and off, until light started creeping out of the horizon.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .


	9. Chapter 9

**Saturday 2 June**

"C'mon, let's go up and watch the sunrise," Dean said, rolling off the car. They put the sleeping bag in the trunk and retrieved their pants from the dashboard before heading up to where they had pitched the tent before. Dean stopped at their tarp-covered pile of belongings and dug around for a minute before pulling out a notebook and a tattered pencil pouch. They scaled the peak and sat down just as the sun started considering making an appearance, lingering just below the sky line. The cloudless sky was a brilliant yellowish green near the edge, gradually fading into blue. Dean sat down and opened his notebook, which contained blank paper, not lined paper, as Sam had expected. He watched as Dean unzipped the pencil pouch, revealing a collection of mostly broken chalk pastels.

"I didn't finger you for the artsy type," Sam teased, raising an eyebrow.

Dean shuffled uncomfortably and started picking out colors, comparing the little sticks to the color of the sky. "I've just never shown you. I'm not very good."

"When did you pick it up?"

"Uh… you know that girl I was seeing, about a year and a half ago, back when we were staying in Maine? Rosie?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she was real into art. I loved watching her paint, she was always painting the sky or the ocean or something. I wanted to give it a try, but knowing our lifestyle, I didn't wanna get into painting. It's not very portable, yanno. Or affordable. She had this old set of these things -" he held up a pastel - "and she gave them to me to try. And I told Dad I needed this for school," he tapped the sketchbook.

Sam watched Dean begin to lay down colors, consulting the sky every few seconds and blending colors with his finger. Sam was disappointed that he had never seen Dean do this before. He wasn't bad. It was obvious he hadn't had any formal instruction, but his color choices were actually pretty accurate. When Dean finished, Sam asked if he could look through the rest of the sketchbook. It looked to be about half full. Dean handed it over and Sam flipped through it, starting at the beginning. There were drawings of various landscapes from the different places they had stayed; Sam recognized a lot of them. Each page had a note in the bottom right corner, including the date and city or approximate location.

Once the sun had fully risen, lighting up the sky to a pleasant pale blue, Dean said, "We should head back." They made their way back down to the clearing and began schlepping their things down to the car.

The drive home was silent aside from the car stereo, quietly playing Led Zeppelin IV. Sam wasn't sure exactly what was different, but the atmosphere in the car was not the same as it had been the night before. He sensed tension between them. He took for Dean's hand, and Dean accepted it without hesitation.

Once they reached the motel, Dean began moving their things back into the room while Sam walked down to the laundry room for a couple of baskets. He loaded dirty clothes into one and stripped the sheets off their beds into another, then disappeared to the laundry room with a handful of coins. He returned to the room in the afternoon, and Dean was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, door and windows open, letting the breeze in. Sam deposited the baskets in the bedroom before returning to the living room. He sat down next to Dean and reached for his hand, but Dean quickly pulled it away before Sam reached him, making a big show of itching his nose and brushing his fingers through his hair. He then clasped his hands in his lap and stared reverently into the TV, avoiding Sam's gaze. Sam went into the bedroom and came back carrying his little leather book. He sat down on the opposite end of the couch and curled up against the arm, burying his nose in the book and scribbling away. He watched Dean out of the corner of his eye, waiting to catch Dean looking at him, but his brother stared straight ahead.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .


	10. Chapter 10

**Tuesday 5 June**

The sound of the motel phone ringing woke Dean around 7am. He flopped off of the couch and made his way over to the phone. It had rung 3 times and then stopped before Dean had gotten over there, meaning it was John and he would call back in a minute. Dean answered when he did. It was a tense conversation, and Dean didn't say more than one word at a time. He only half listened to his dad's rambling, other things were on his mind.

"Was that Dad?" Sam asked when Dean hung up the phone. He was getting ready for school.

"Yeah."

"What did he want?"

"Nothing."

Sam glared at Dean. He was talking to Sam the same way he had been talking to their Dad a moment ago, and Sam did not appreciate being put on the same level as John. He turned away and gathered up his things, leaving for school about half an hour earlier than he needed to.

Dean sat back down on the couch and stared at the floor. He knew he was being unfair to Sam. He knew he was being cold and distant. And he felt terrible about it, but he was worried that if he let himself be normal with Sam then something else would happen. Every time he let his guard down, got too comfortable, something _happened._ While he absolutely did not want to spend the rest of his life treating his brother like this, he had yet to find a viable alternative. And Sam didn't help. Even though they had barely spoken since the trip, Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him when Sam thought he wasn't looking. Undressing Dean with his eyes, undoubtedly thinking filthy thoughts, quickly looking away if Dean tried to catch him in the act.

The day after they got back, they had both been lying awake in bed. Dean had had a little bit to drink. He told Sam that they had to stop, that nothing else could happen between them. Sam had asked why, and Dean told him he shouldn't have to ask that question. After that, Dean had gotten up and returned to the couch, where he was still sleeping. It was too hard being in that room together; hearing Sam's gentle breathing, seeing his silky skin when he climbed out of bed in the morning. After that night in the tent, Dean felt like he could barely control himself. Even some nights on the couch, Dean wanted to tear into the bedroom, climb into Sam's bed, and savagely fuck him. And that just wasn't something he could allow to become more than a fleeting thought.

He glanced around the room. It was kind of a mess. He figured he should tidy up a bit, starting with the mountain of garbage and beer bottles that had accumulated between the couch and the coffee table. He was still off work because the shop's owner had decided to extend his vacation, so he didn't really have anything to do until he went back on Friday. Cleaning would at least occupy a bit of time. About twenty minutes later, the room looked pretty good. A little disheveled still, but relatively clean. Dean silently hoped this would earn him points with Sam. He knew that Sam hated mess, and also that the reason his brother hadn't been doing any tidying of his own was probably because he didn't want to be in the same room with Dean's icy demeanor.

Dean put on headphones and started playing Deep Purple loud enough to (hopefully) drown out his own thoughts. He thumbed through a magazine that he didn't remember bringing home, then walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth. While he examined himself in the mirror, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, he realized it was Sam's notebook, sitting on the tank of the toilet. He was surprised to see it; Sam usually took it to school with him. He started to wonder what could have made him leave it behind, then remembered with a grimace the way Sam had marched out of the room that morning, and why.

Dean found himself picking the book up, flipping it over in his hands a few times. He went into the bedroom and climbed into his bed, a welcome feeling after a couple nights on the couch - the one in the new room did not fold out into a bed. He turned his music up a little louder and tried to figure out if he was really going to open the book. He felt bad even thinking about it, but he could feel his curiosity getting the best of him. He had watched Sam obsessively scribble in and pour over this book for over six months, and Sam's weird non-answers when Dean asked what he was writing only made him want to know the real answer more.

He flipped open the cover. He squinted suspiciously at the text, turned a page. Turned another page. Leafed through the notebook, stopping to read excerpts here and there. His stomach churned. _Jesus Christ._ It was… porn. The first pages were rather mild, getting more and more lewd the further he went. The characters included Dean and Sam, various unnamed men and women, and Jacob. Dean fucking some girl. Sam fucking some girl. Dean fucking Sam. Among a wide variety of imagined scenarios were a few that were painfully familiar: that night at the water hole, the time Dean had kissed Sam in his bed; a description of actual events followed by what Dean figured was what Sam had wanted to happen. The night in the tent was also included, no embellishments, as well as Sam's version of what he thought was going on the night he heard Dean and Jacob in the living room.

Dean felt himself getting hard. He set the book down on the bed next to him. "Fuck you," he muttered, half to his dick and half to Sam. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the headboard, feeling his heart jumping in his throat.

Dean just stared down at the book. He didn't know if he wanted to put it back and pretend he had never opened it, or keep reading, or walk outside and burn the damn thing. Should he tell Sam he had seen it? He picked the book up again and flipped to the extended version of the kiss they had shared in the bedroom, feeling disgusted with himself but also too horny to care. He groped himself through his sweatpants, letting his head fall back against the headboard again. He imagined himself sucking Sam off, how he might buck his hips or wind his fingers into Dean's hair. He opened his eyes and felt his breath get stuck in his throat.

Sam was standing in the doorway. They stared at each other for several seconds before Dean pulled his headphones off. "Uh… what are you doing back here?" he asked shakily.

"I… forgot something." Sam looked pointedly at the notebook in Dean's hand.

Dean set the book on the table and took a deep breath, trying to decide if he was really going to do what he was thinking. "C'mere."

Sam hovered in the doorway before slowly setting his things down. He reached down to untie his shoes, holding eye contact with Dean, then padded to the side of the bed in his socks. He pulled himself onto the bed and into Dean's lap with one smooth movement, pressing their lips together forcefully before Dean had a chance to reconsider. He slid his hips back and forth, feeling Dean's erection beneath him. He was already rock hard himself. Dean dug his fingers into Sam's thighs, then wedged his hands between them and hastily unbuttoned Sam's shirt. Sam shrugged it off and let it fall behind him. Dean pushed Sam away until he was laying on his back, his head near the foot of the bed, and climbed on top of him. He began working his way down Sam's torso. Sam grabbed a fistful of Dean's tshirt and pulled it off over his head as he descended. Dean pulled Sam's shorts and boxers off at the same time, not bothering to unbutton them.

He wasted no time getting his mouth around Sam. He heard a sharp inhale and immediately felt Sam's hands on the back of his head, urging him on. He bobbed up and down, slowly taking more into his mouth with each downward push. Soon he felt his nose brushing against the fine hairs at the base of Sam's dick. He pulled off slowly, stopping to swirl his tongue around the head, causing Sam to whine and dig his nails into Dean's scalp. Dean sat up abruptly and began pulling his pants off. He looked down at Sam, flushed and panting. He discarded his pants and leaned over to his bedside table, digging around for the little bottle of lube that he had brought home with Jacob in mind.

It occurred to him as he applied lube to his hand that he wasn't completely sure that Sam really wanted this, that maybe it was just an idea Sam appreciated on paper. It only took him a few seconds to decide that he didn't care. He hadn't wanted what happened in the tent, but Sam had given it to him anyway. He felt almost angry as he met Sam's lips again. Sam tensed as he felt Dean's fingers pressing inside of him, moaning into Dean's mouth. After what felt like it could have easily been an hour or a minute, Dean found himself slowly rocking his cock into Sam. He paused when he bottomed out, pressing his forehead into his brother's shoulder, feeling Sam carving lines into his back. He slid a hand into Sam's hair and slowly started moving, quickly picking up the pace, his hips snapping, the sound of skin against skin filling the stiflingly hot room. One of Sam's hands slid down to Dean's ass while he used the other to stroke himself in time with Dean's thrusts.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean exhaled, feeling himself getting close, his thrusts becoming more erratic. He could tell Sam was close too, which was good since he wasn't sure he could hold back much longer. He ignored Sam's attempts to bring their faces together, feeling anger rising inside him again. Dean nipped at Sam's neck instead, feeling his back arch as his hand sped up, warm cum splattering against both of them. Two thrusts later and Dean was there. He collapsed on top of Sam and stayed there for a minute, trying to muster the strength to sit up, both of their chests heaving. Finally, he pushed himself up and moved back to the top of the bed. Sam followed.

They lay next to each other silently, sticky with sweat and various fluids, catching their breath, both feeling slightly sick. They both knew a line had just been crossed that would be difficult or impossible to step away from. Up until that point, everything that had happened could have been dismissed as simply poor judgement, a result of emotional stress or alcohol. But this was different.

Dean sat up and reached for his pants, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket. He lit a cigarette, ignoring Sam's previous instruction not to get smoke in the house, the clicking of the lighter sounding awfully loud in the quiet room. Sam picked up the carton and took a cigarette without asking and pulled the lighter from Dean's fingers. Dean watched his smoke hover in the thick air in front of him, no fans on or windows open to send it away. He breathed in the hot, stale air, smelling sweat and sex and smoke.

Dean glanced down at Sam, his blank expression giving no indication of what he was thinking or feeling. "You alright?" Sam nodded without looking up and took a long drag on his cigarette, then held his mouth open and allowed the smoke to drift out on its own, watching the semi opaque lines swirl and dance before dissipating. Dean lowered himself onto his side, facing Sam, setting his elbow on the mattress and supporting his head with his hand. He extended the hand holding his cigarette and dragged his fingertips over Sam's skin, tracing circular patterns around his hips and stomach. Any feelings of anger had disappeared, replaced by something similar to nostalgia he couldn't put a word to and a pit in his stomach.

Sam put his cigarette out on the bedside table and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Dean lit another and smoked it quickly before standing and pulling his clothes back on over his sticky skin. "I'm going for a drive," he called to Sam, who didn't respond.

The tires of the Impala squealed against the pavement as he ripped the car out of the driveway and onto the road. He sped away, unsure of how fast he was going. His head started to spin. He was so hot and dehydrated and mentally burnt out. The hot leather seared his skin through his thin tshirt, drawing his attention to the welts on his back. He cranked his window down as sweat began to drip from his face. He felt his vision blurring. He pulled off the road, about ten miles away from the motel at that point, threw the car into park and hurled himself out, his feet barely hitting the pavement before he vomited. He slid down the side of the car, panting, and sat on the asphalt.

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

The door to the motel creaked open just after sundown that evening. Dean shuffled inside and dropped the keys on the counter with a clatter before digging in the fridge for a beer. He used the edge of the counter top to pry the lid off, letting it fall to the floor. He turned towards the living room to see Sam sitting on the couch, staring at him, the TV playing quietly in the background. Dean made his way over to the couch and sat down. The living room windows were open and a cool breeze was wafting in. Dean took a sip of his beer then lit a cigarette and tossed the pack onto the coffee table.

"You ever go to school?" Dean asked.

"Nope," Sam replied without looking at him, reaching for a cigarette.

"Attaboy," Dean said with a chuckle. He handed over his lighter. Sam rolled his eyes and lit his cigarette without saying anything or looking at Dean. Dean observed Sam's face, blueish light from the television dancing over his skin in the otherwise unlit room, a strand of hair hanging in front of his eyes. Dean reached out and tucked the hair behind his brother's ear, letting his hand linger in the air for a moment before sliding his fingers into Sam's hair. He saw a smile pulling at the corners of Sam's mouth as he slowly massaged his scalp. He scooted closer and put an arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam laid his head on Dean's chest as he took a long draw off his cigarette and held it, his eyes closed. "Why do you do that?" Dean asked. He slipped his hand under the sleeve of Sam's tshirt and ran his fingers over the skin, feeling the rows of scars, some slightly raised, others slightly sunken.

"I dunno, it just feels nice. Kinda gives you a buzz." Sam rested his free hand on Dean's knee. "Where did you go?"

"Uh… just drove around, mostly. I just needed to clear my head."

"For ten hours?"

"Was it that long?" Dean examined the arm of the couch as he thought about it. "Huh… guess I was gone a while."

"You go anywhere in particular?"

"I went to some corner store for food, and stopped at Jake's on the way home. Other than that, no."

"Yeah? How's Jacob?"

"He's fine."

"When am I gonna get to meet him properly?"

"Oh, uh… you still wanna do that?"

"I told you I did."

"Uh… sometime soon, I guess. I'll ask him about it."

"Cool."

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .


End file.
